Unquiet Grave

Title: The Unquiet Grave

Author: diggingupophelia/sapphiretragedy

Prompt: 6 Harry's spirit returns to Hermione early one Christmas Morning.

Rating: Teen

Other pairings: Mentions of R/Hr and a joke about SS/Hr.

Warnings: Character death, clearly. Angst.

Notes: Feedback is always appreciated but never required. Originally written for the LJ Community: hhrxmas2006.

Also, this story has nothing to do with the Exquisite Corpse/Meeting of Men and Mountains story arc. This is a stand alone piece. If you would like updates for this or any of my works, and are an adult - please join my fan fic community - community.livejournal.com/annettefanfic.

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Christmas Day was never the same for Hermione after the war. Christmas Day was the day of the final battle. It was the day Voldemort was defeated. It was also the day Harry died. So, for Hermione Christmas was forever known as The Day Harry Died.

Hermione woke early on The Day Harry Died, showered, and spelled her hair dry. She pulled on her warmest clothes and heaviest cloak and set out on the short walk to the cemetery adjacent to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Today, she was going to visit Harry.

When Hermione approached the sarcophagus that had become Harry's new home. She placed a gloved hand on the hard marble surface that was glimmering in the light from the rising sun as it caught the snow and ice that layered the marble.

“Hello Harry. It's a beautiful morning. Ron's coming to visit today; he's bringing Luna and the children. James will be so happy to see them; it's been ages. It should be a nice service - today's the day we remember. But I remember every day, Harry. I miss you,” she whispered. Hermione brushed the snow and ice from Harry's name and dates of birth and death. She laid a gentle kiss on the marble surface.

Hermione stood and watched the sun rise higher and higher into the sky. The sun was not bright, and the sky was cloudy. It wasn't nearly as beautiful a sunrise as they had watched, knowing it was probably their last. Hermione hugged herself, wising this morning as she did every morning, that she had died that day, too.

Hermione shut her eyes and imagined Harry, as he was their last morning - all smiles and tight embraces while he whispered how much he loved her into her ear. He promised they would make it through. He promised they would be fine. Hermione knew he was lying - they were both going to die- but she nuzzled against his cheek and kissed him anyway. She kissed him as he pushed down onto his cloak, which was cold and wet from snow. She kissed him and held him close as he lifted her robes and pulled down her knickers. She kissed him while her numb and frozen fingers reached under his robes to unfasten his wand holster and pull down his pants. She laughed when she noticed they were red and covered with animated snitches. She gasped when his cold hands trailed up her robes and fondled her breasts. She kissed him as he entered her body. She moaned his name when they came. She held him as he caught his breath. And stole one last kiss as he tugged on those ridiculous red boxers.

He helped her to her feet and together they walked into the Great Hall. She fought him when he begged her to stay behind. She stayed behind because he doused her pumpkin juice with Dreamless Sleep. When she awoke Voldemort was dead and so was Harry. That is how Hermione remembered Harry.

She crossed her arms and turned toward the sarcophagus. “You're not a bloody hero, you know. You're a right bastard for making me stay behind. You forced me to live a life with out you. That was a life I never wanted! Don't get me wrong - I love our son. But, I would much rather have died with you that day.”

Hermione jumped when she felt a familiar touch on the back of her neck. She looked frantically around her. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body and moved closer to Harry's final resting place.

“Ron,” she called. “That's not funny. You know you aren't supposed to touch that cloak. It's not a toy. It's … it's Harry's and … just don't play games today, Ron.”

The only response Hermione got was the rustle of wind in the trees.

“Bloody hell, Granger. You're a Gryffindor,” she told herself.

She turned her attention back to Harry.

“I love you. Don't get me wrong, I do. It's just so hard, Harry,” she lamented.

“Hermione,” a whisper carried on the wind called.

“Harry?” Hermione called confused. Confused because it had been nearly eight years and Hermione had tried to summon Harry's ghost a countless number of times. But she had been reassured by a very disappointed Moaning Myrtle that Harry was not on the ghostly plane.

“Hermione,” the voice repeated. It was louder this time. Then she felt a tug at her cloak.

“Harry. I'm here,” she called, excitement heavy on her voice.

Hermione was stunned to see Harry's transparent form appear before her. He looked just as she remembered him - young, and smiling. “Harry.”

“I'm sorry, Hermione.”

“It's - I'm just lonely, Harry. I find it's much easier to yell at you when you can't argue back.” Hermione smiled at him.

“I'm arguing back - you just can't hear me,” Harry insisted. He reached out hand and brushed Hermione's cheek.

Hermione gasped. “You're corporeal - that means you can touch! I can touch you.”

“That was the idea. It took a long time to work up to this. Dad and Sirius have been helping me learn - for you.”

“I love you, Harry. And I'm not mad,” she said quickly.

“I know. I don't like seeing you sad. And believe me I do see how sad you are. Even when you're with James … maybe even especially when you're with him.”

“He looks so much like you. He's seven. He's almost at the age where everything he'll do will remind me of you constantly,” she whispered.

“He's a good kid. Smart. Reads a lot. We talk in his dreams.”

Hermione was stunned. “I thought he was making it up. Or that Ron was telling him things he shouldn't know. Honestly, Harry - do you have to tell him all the things we did as children. I'll have no control over him once he starts at Hogwarts.”

Harry smiled wickedly. “Dads are meant to teach their sons to have fun. Mothers are meant to stop them from having fun.”

“Ha bloody ha. I expect that from Ronald. Not from you Harry.”

“I didn't go and die so my son could live a careful life,” Harry argued.

Hermione couldn't argue that point.

Harry's voice grew softer. “I visit you in your dreams, too. But you already know that. I must admit I'm a naughty devil aren't I?”

“Indeed you are - I rather enjoy those dreams,” Hermione said, reaching out for Harry's hand.

“Hermione - there's plenty of time for touching,” Harry teased. “We need to talk.”

“Talk? I've been talking to you every day for eight years. I don't need to talk.”

“I've had to listen for eight years. And I thought you were long winded when we were children. If I'd only known.”

“Harry!”

“I don't want you mourning for me any more. I want you to move on, Hermione. Find yourself a wizard - or witch if you like - who will treat you the way you want to be treated. I honestly don't care if you choose Snape! Just don't live your life empty and alone.”

“Snape? Harry - does death make you mad?”

“Snape's not so bad from where I sit. For starters, he was always on our side! I get to know all sorts of things about him,” Harry defended. “But that's not the sodding point, Hermione. The point is I don't want you to die alone. I don't want you to spend another second pining away for me in any capacity. You're much too good for that.”

“No one else will ever be like you, Harry.”

“You don't have to find someone to replace me. I don't want you to replace me. I just want you to live your life. I didn't die so people I loved could be sad for the rest of their lives.”

“I should have died with you,” she yelled at him.

“You had to live so James could live.”

“We'd both be better off with you, Harry. It's horrible. People talking about you all the time. Hounding me and asking me questions. Telling me how much James looks like you as if I don't bloody well know it!” Hermione kicked at the dirt.

“They all mean well, Hermione. If I'd had a choice I wouldn't have left you. But if I didn't do what I did then he would have won, Hermione.”

“I know. I'm still upset with you for lying. You sat with me,” she pointed toward the large thicket of trees yards away from the graveyard. “You held me and told me we would be alright. You told me we'd both come through this. And you knew the whole time you made love with me that it was the last time. How am I supposed to forgive that? How do I move on from that? You stole a life from me - all because you had to save it. You should have let me fight with you.”

“I did what I had to do to win, Hermione. I didn't mean to steal anything from you. I knew you wouldn't let me do what I did. You would have wanted to find another way.”

“And I did find another way. All we needed was one more day, Harry. One more day!”

“We didn't have one more second. I don't regret killing myself so I could kill him. I only regret that it hurt you so terribly that you can't move on. First you pushed Ron into Luna's arms and then … then there was nothing. So many people have tried.”

“I've got James. We're fine. We see my parents for holidays. And Ron comes to see us twice a week at the castle. I just don't want to love anyone as much as I've loved you and then end up left with nothing.”

Harry walked toward Hermione and cupped her face in his cold hand. “Did I really leave you with nothing?”

Hermione placed her hand on his. “No - you left me with a big gaping hole in my heart. That's something. An emptiness I can't - won't - ever be able to fill.”

Harry pulled Hermione into a tight embrace. “I never stopped loving you. I will never stop loving you. And you - Hermione, you just can't stop loving because you're afraid it might hurt. You're Hermione Granger. You're a Gryffindor - you're meant to be brave, love.”

“Why won't you let me love you?” She cried. Her face was nestled against Harry's neck. He was freezing cold - but his touch was still soft. She was finally home.

“I am letting you love me. There is no question that you do love me. You just need to love someone who can actually be with you. Someone who needs to sleep and eat and breathe, Hermione. You deserve happiness. That's why I came back. I'm sorry it took so long. You've wasted too much time on me.”

Harry's fingers twisted around loose stands of hair at the base of Hermione's neck. “Can you let me go? Let me rest peacefully until you're ready to join me?”

“Please don't force me to do that, Harry.” She stopped talking as she pulled his body closer into hers and held him tightly. “Please don't force me to forget you.”

“You won't forget me. You won't. I'll still be with you - watching over you.”

Hermione fell to her knees on the ground, sobbing. Harry kneeled next to her and lifted her face gently from her chin. He leaned forward and kissed the tears from her face. “Shh,” he coaxed. “Don't cry for me anymore. I'm safe. I could be happy, Hermione, but only if you can find happiness, too.”

Hermione took deep breaths. She tried to stop herself from crying. She looked deep into Harry's eyes - silver just like the rest of his corporeal translucent person - as she leaned in to kiss his frigid lips. To the touch, they were cold - but they were soft, wet, inviting and exactly as she remembered.

“This is what makes me happy. To kiss you and know for sure it's the last time.”

Harry brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. He kissed her softy on the forehead and stood up. He held a hand out to her. She took it and pulled herself up from the ground. Harry wrapped his arms around her and inhaled the scent of her hair. “Apple blossoms and rose hips,” he whispered into her hair. “Like always.”

Hermione backed away from him, creating space between them, and he stepped closer to her. He dipped his head and kissed her softly on the lips as he toyed with her loose curls. “This is not goodbye. It's I'll see you soon. For me, the blink of an eye.”

Hermione nodded. “Will you still visit my dreams? I really like the naughty ones,' she smiled through her tears.

“I'll be in your dreams. I'll be in your heart,” he replied placing a cold hand on her chest. “But you have to stop coming to this place. You need to stop reliving my death and celebrate the life we had for that short time.”

“I love you, Harry. And I always will. I'm sorry I kept you from being happy.”

“I love you, too. And don't be sorry. Just be happy for me.”

“I promise, Harry. For you I will.”

“That's a girl. You're stronger than I could have ever been. You are an amazing woman and a brilliant mother.” Harry embraced Hermione a final time. He kissed her on the top of her head. Then he backed away. “I have to go, now.”

“I won't cry,” she promised, wiping tears from her face. “I love you.”

Harry started to fade. He smiled at Hermione and reached out to her. “I love you. See you in your dreams.”

Hermione stood staring at Harry until he fully vanished. She stayed for a long time willing herself not to cry and actually feeling happier with each passing second. Harry had given her the gift of peace for Christmas.

Hermione walked up to the sarcophagus one last time. She placed a light hand on the edge of the marble structure and smiled. “I won't say I won't miss you because I will. But I won't wait for you anymore. I love you, Harry. Happy Christmas,” she whispered.

“Happy Christmas, love,” was whispered into the wind.

Hermione turned her back on the monument to Harry's death and walked back toward the castle. The weight of mourning was lifted from her shoulders. Harry had given her the permission she needed to live her own life. For that, she would always be grateful. Always.

Fin

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